Blood
by K.Holtzman
Summary: Juice has faced many demons, faced a lot of guilt, dealt with a lot of pain. But this is the first time his past has collided with the Sons and it's taking Tig down with it. There's more to the reaper than just a patch, there's a lot of blood too.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. All rights, characters and whatever else belong to Kurt Sutter and FX Studios. Only the story idea is mine, and I make no profit- monetary or otherwise- from this production. Unless you want to count the shits and giggles I get from doing it.**

_**A/N: Alright, so this is my first Juice fic, with some supernatural stuff thrown in 'cause I can't keep things normal and of course hurt and pain 'cause I apparently like to make characters suffer. Thanks to Evil Cosmic Triplets for letting me use the supernatural prompt Blood. **_

It's slick, wet, sticky and has a tang. It's warm, smooth, shiny, and has a stench that sticks in your nostrils; a sickeningly sweet scent that's bitter and subdued, but overwhelming at the same time. All topped with a salty, copper taste.

And, Juice hates it.

Blood, it's a person's life in liquid form; loss of that means loss of life; it means death. It runs through your whole body and keeps you moving; in more ways than one, it's the most precious thing on the planet, but it can also be the most vulgar.

That's why Juice hates it, he hates how losing too much of a simple liquid could rip someone from his life. Or how too little can make you sickly and broken. Or even how too much can make you a hot, red mess with a major headache.

But even more than that, there's something about the color- a deep ruby red, that shines crimson, and moves as scarlet- that he dislikes the most. The red never represents anything good, it's always the sign of tragedy, or sacrifice...or death. It's transfixing as well, something that drags Juice in, like claws, captures his attention like a cage and leaves him hanging; breathless, distant, and cold, trapped in some trance.

That's why, sitting here, he can't take his eyes off of Tig as the man gasps and pants, blood spluttering from his mouth and running down his chin. The tainted liquid is smeared along the side of Tig's face and pumping out of his chest between Juice's fingers, despite how much force Juice desperately throws at the wound, trying in vain to hold it closed.

He almost can't focus enough to do even that because the blood is everywhere. Some of it is his, some of it is that of their assaulter's, but most of it is Tig's; it just keeps coming, the guy could run his own blood bank from what's been spilling out, yet he's still alive. Juice just isn't sure for how much longer.

This wasn't how the deal was supposed to go. They were just supposed to get the guns and leave. But those damn assholes cheated them, jumped them, and in the middle of a fucking parking lot at that. Juice has no doubt, that had they been attacked somewhere else, with no innocents, Tig and he would've been able to flatten these guys in seconds. But they had threatened a family, a kid, and Tig about lost it then. Surprisingly enough, it was the heart that Juice never knew Tig had, that saved the family, even though it meant he and Tig had to give themselves up.

And now, here they were, in a storage container, with a fucking hole in Tig's chest and nothing to help him. Juice already has his shirt balled up and pressed to the wound, but it does nothing to stem the bleeding, nor does the added pressure from Juice pushing against it with all of his strength.

"Oh shit Tig, don't die okay?" Juice rambles in Tig's ear, his words aren't even making sense to him.

It's not like Tig can do anything to stop his own loss of life- if he dies, that's on Juice and no one else. It's not the blame, though, that bothers Juice, he thinks he could deal with that; it's the fact of Tig actually dying that bothers him, scares the shit out of him- especially with the added fact that Tig might bleed out, right here in his arms.

Juice doesn't act like he wants to be around Tig, and in many cases he doesn't, but he still loves Tig, in some weird brotherly way that's only possible in the Sons.

Juice wonders where the Aryans went, they beat the shit out of them both and then just left, leaving them here. Juice tried to call the guys but he didn't have his prepay, and it's not like he could leave to find help.

Suddenly, Tig coughs up more blood, and the stuff is soaking Juice's shirt. A new fear grips Juice's heart and he wonders how he could have let this happen. Why didn't he fight back as well? Take a shot like Tig? Maybe then they would have been able to overcome the Aryans. But he was useless, he just sat there and watched as Tig struggled in the grasp of some Aryan goliath and was shot point blank with a 9 mil.

"Tig hey, stay with me okay? There's help on the way, just don't die. Please." Juice really hopes there's help on the way. The guys had to be out looking for them, and he could hear sirens- he just didn't know where they were going.

"J...Juice..."

"No Tig, don't talk, okay? Just stay with me." Juice's eyes found the blood on Tig's lips and he swallowed hard, trying to keep focus, not lose himself. The blood just kept bubbling through though, a slow leak out of Tig's mouth- a direct contrast to the blood spouting from Tig's chest.

It's like the push and pull of some unknown force, like gravity, with Juice's eyes going back and forth between Tig's lips and the wounded man's chest. He has a small, sick fascination with it all, and that scares him. Juice goes back to hating himself, for not doing anything and for paying more attention to the blood than Tig. He just couldn't stop looking at it - blood, there was always so much of it.

There was always so much blood.

_Juan sat on the stoop, the knotted wood creaked beneath his weight. He watched, with a far off look, as blood ran down his arm from the cut on his palm. The crimson liquid dripped slowly, like each drop had a path it needed to follow and it was pertinent that it did. It's destination attracted it like iron to a magnet. Maybe that's what it was, some tiny magnet, in the crease of his elbow that drew all the blood into a pool. _

_Juan doesn't remember how he got the cut, he knows it happened at school, that Paul did something. Maybe Juan had said something about his name again, it was really Pablo and Juan couldn't figure out why he wanted to be called Paul. But Paul was a bit of a bully, he didn't have any friends- a loner- and Juan felt a little bad for him. He tried to make friends, but why the first thing out of his mouth was the name thing, he didn't know; it didn't help any though. Paul now hated his guts and Juan was down yet another possible friend. He always talked before he thought, he didn't know when to stop-like his mother said- always said the worst things at the worst times. _

_Juan heard a gasp above him and then his mother was dragging him into the kitchen, cleaning and bandaging his hand none too gently. She had a look in her eyes, a sad one of disappointment and lost hope- like she felt Juan was a lost cause, a perpetual troublemaker, who, again, talked before he thought, doing more damage than good._

Juice had seen that look many times later in life, on Chibs usually. Chibs had the same eyes as his mother, soft and caring, but hard and holding way too much weight from having seen too much. And they always analyzed down to the very core, picking up everything, mini cameras that recorded and stored all the visual footage.

Juice hated those eyes sometimes, he felt naked to them, bare, with nowhere to hide. He couldn't imagine what kind of look Chibs would give him when he found out about this, about Tig, and about Juice's fascination as he watched the life drain out of Tig and not doing a damn thing to stop it.

"Sir, you need to let go."

Juice shakes his head. Hands pull at his arms, but Juice can't move and his brain is slow. He doesn't know what's going on.

"He's in shock, get the gurney, we'll have to pry him off."

"Wait..." Juice murmurs.

Paramedics are surrounding him, placing their hands on him, and on Tig who's still lying in between his legs. They're trying to take him away from Juice.

"No, get off of him!"

"Son, we're trying to help, you gotta let go."

Juice finds the eyes of an older man, ocean grey, kinda like Clay's, looking at him, and Juice wonders where the former president is.

"No, he's dying, I- I can't, you can't take him."

"He needs to get to the hospital, we're just trying to do our jobs."

The paramedics work around Juice, some of them still trying to pull him off. But Juice can't let go, he doesn't know these people, doesn't trust them. And now there's more blood than ever and it only started to look like this when they showed up, so Juice's having a hard time believing they are actually helping.

It's the blood though that shuts him down again, and the warm weight that was Tig is gone and there's a poking and prodding at his face and the drone of a voice. But Juice isn't hearing any of it, he just nods his head, thinking that if Tig's not there with him anymore, the man might be dead; Juice doesn't know, how could he, unless he's with Tig? And, as a brother, it's his job, to make sure Tig's okay, right?

"I gotta go." Juice pushes at the hands dabbing at his face, but they're on his shoulders, pinning him against the wall.

"You have to go the hospital too."

It's the older man from before, same quiet calm voice and it helps to ground Juice, take his eyes away from the blood so he can actually think a little more straight.

"No, I- uh I'm fine. My friend he-"

"You friend's getting the help he needs. But you're hurt too, come on. We'll take you to the hospital with your friend, he'll never be far away." The paramedic gives him a serious look, and despite his instincts, Juice believes him. Juice is pretty sure he wasn't hurt, but he needs to follow Tig.

So he nods to the paramedic, and he's soon walked over to an ambulance. All around him, there are people covered in blood, and he can hear shouts and commands- even the soft coughing, Juice knows to be Tig, gagging on his own blood.

Juice wonders if the other paramedics can hear it, hear Tig's airway closing, like a deflating balloon. It's so subtle, but it's a throbbing pain at the front of Juice's mind, thumping to the rhythm of Tig's struggles to breathe.

For the first time, though, since all of this has happened, Juice notices something. The blood, as much as there was of it, only soaked through his shirt and his pants. There's none, not one drop of it, despite the fact Juice felt it bursting through his fingers only minutes ago, on his hands.

_**Reviews are lovely to have, oblige me if you would.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**_Super late in updating I know. I got a number of reviews for this- I guess it's the power of Juice. Anyway there's references in here from outta left field so just try and overlook those okay?_**

Juice groans a bit, stretching in the chair, his head is still throbbing and he's stiff from sitting so long. Tig's unconscious in the bed, and he's pale- white as a sheet- and small looking. Juice watches from his chair, a sentry of sorts, a guardian, sitting and watching over Tig like some Whitelighter from Charmed. Juice doesn't know why the show is on his mind right now, he's only seen an episode or two but for some reason witches, magic babies, and whitelighters are in his brain.

Whitelighters though, would be nice to have, protecting their wards and whatnot, maybe make the place a bit brighter. Juice wonders why they are even called Whitelighters, when they teleport places it's blue sparkles, there's nothing white about them. And Juice really needs to stop thinking about this 'cause this is not the kind of show a Son should be watching, much less thinking about especially when a brother lays dying in a freaking hospital.

"Shit." Juice curses, settling back in the chair again, watching the IV drip they have hooked up to Tig. It's not like the other ones, instead this one has blood, because Tig lost so much and they're trying to replace it. How you could stick someone else's blood in another person though is lost on Juice. It doesn't seem right; to have the very essence of another person running through your veins, another person's life. Stupidly he wonders if Tig will be like two people when he wakes up, if there will be new aspects to his personality that are from the blood donor- like maybe Tig'll be less of an ass to him: Highly doubtful.

Juice zones back in on the blood again, it drips so tediously down the tube; almost like an hourglass counting down the grains of life. It coagulates at the bottom, small beads that gravitate towards one another and stuck before traveling on down the tube, right in to Tig's arm.

_Juan watches quietly, they've got Reggie strung up by his arms, chest strained and taunt, stretched out so thin that the knife easily sinks in. Thin, crimson, lines cover his body, the beginnings of the cross and stripes; their tag. _

_Juan knows the boss will kill Reggie, slice him up so gently, skin like butter, then he'll mark him, let him bleed out and dump his body in the East River. Reggie has to die though has too. He betrayed them, snitched to the cops, and that has to be paid for; that's what the boss says. _

_Juan feels guilt though, a knife twisting in his gut. He knew what Reggie did and had kept it secret, but things had gotten out of hand, Reggie became a regular rat; and rats die. It was his only option, self preservation; either he give Reggie up, spill the whole truth, or eventually they'd both be caught and killed. He tried to get Reggie to turn himself in, just tell the boss the truth that maybe he would've lived- but Reggie didn't listen. Juan however was not going to die for a man who was too stupid to realize his own mistake._

_And he got lucky, Juan wasn't handed a death sentence. He got to live, didn't get demoted within the gang, he just had to do the boss a few favors and everything was fine. It wouldn't last long, only a couple of months; just had to be there when the boss needed him, on his knees, or at night, or whenever the boss needed to work out some inner issues. It wouldn't be hard, just had to stick through and imagine being somewhere else, get lost in his own head; something Juan is already a master at._

_Another shriek from Reggie jerks Juan out of his thoughts, the self justifying thoughts that he shouldn't be having because none of this was his fault. He flinches at the sound of a pained gasp, and turns his head, there's blood pouring out of Reggie, a small waterfall of blood. Juan doesn't like to look at blood, he's not hemophobic or anything but blood is just...weird, to him. He can't explain the appetizing qualities of it that always transfix him, he doesn't approve of those qualities either but he doesn't have much say in his emotions._

_"Yo, Juan!" The boss is calling him over, the knife out to his side in an impatient gesture, moonlight reflecting off of it and crossing Juan's eyes. "C'mere ese."_

_Juan clenches his jaw but obeys, he's not sure what the boss wants- any favors were to be done in the confidence of the two of them, not when all the other guys were hanging around, watching someone die. "Yeah boss?"_

_Juan watches as his boss pulls a rag out of his suit,-a two piece, double breasted suit like the ones Don Corleone wears- and wipes off the edge of the knife. The rag doesn't even stain; the blood just fades in the sea of red already there whether by dye or the blood of other souls. Then the knife is flipped over, handle held out to Juan and he takes it gingerly, wrapping his fingers around the cold leather and it feels oddly right. _

_Juan stares at the blade, it's like a piece to the rest of the puzzle in his head but he can't figure out what he's suppose to do with it, even though the answers writhing only a foot away from him. The boss nods at him and he nods back, the small gesture telling him everything he needs to do. _

_Juan steps forward, breathing deeply, sweat hanging at the corner of his brow, and the boss' hand on his shoulder stops him. He leans in and Juan can feel his warm, cigar tainted breath hot against his ear. "Any extra finesse and I might shave a few weeks off your punishment." The boss leans back, raising his eyebrows in question; Juan nods back, even more sure of what he has to do even if he doesn't know if he can._

_It's more simple than Juan expects it to be though, he takes a deep breath, swallowing hard in front of Reggie, before twisting the knife in his hand and streaking it across Reggie's skin, essentially flaying the man alive, finishing the carving of their tag the boss had already started. Then Juan drags it down the side of his neck, the killing blow that ends Reggie's life quickly, it's the only small mercy Juan can give Reggie while still keeping himself alive. _

_Juan stands there, the knife in a white knuckled grasp with Reggie's blood dripping down his hand, he stares at it curiously, not sure what to do now. But then the boss is patting his pack and taking the knife, cleaning before holstering it, his eyes are shining with something Juan knows to be pride and he wonders what's so prideful about any of this, but then the smell of blood finally hits him and that takes Juan to a whole new place, and the world around him fades to mere background noise._


End file.
